


January Embers

by wood_originals



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: M/M, Open Relationships, Oral Sex, Power Dynamics, Roleplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-05 18:54:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25520185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wood_originals/pseuds/wood_originals
Summary: Archie and Jughead fool around. Jughead recites poetry. Archie gets to his knees. A good time is had by all.
Relationships: Archie Andrews/Jughead Jones
Comments: 2
Kudos: 61





	January Embers

**Author's Note:**

> I miss this show. I also wish it was better. That's a different story. Please enjoy... whatever this is.

Archie was sitting on the cot in the office of the community center when his phone dinged with a text from Jughead. It simply said, “Can you see the sunset where you are?”

“Nope. Is it a good one?” Archie texted back easily, laying back onto the feeble excuse for a mattress, bright LED lights keeping him awake.

“It is. Very January embers, my heart burns there too.”

Archie read over the sentence a few times, confused, before texting back. “I don’t know what that means, but I’ll assume it’s a good thing. Where are you, off being all poetic?”

Jughead’s next text comes impossibly fast. “It's from Stephen King's It, it's a poem one character writes for the other. 'Your hair is winter fire - January embers - my heart burns there too,' and then hilariously in the 90s film adaption the character has brown hair but they leave the poem as it is. Which is a very roundabout way to say the sunset reminded me of you. Queue gagging sounds.”

Archie laughed out loud, and started writing a reply, “Aw, Jug…” when his phone dinged again.

“I am currently in the woods - trying to make my way back before that winter fire burns out and this becomes a different horror movie. Where are you?”

Archie’s brow furrowed, sitting back up, leaning against the cold, hard wall. “Why are you in the woods? Are you okay? Are you alone?”

Thankfully, Jug continued to reply fast. “Let’s hope so.”

“Do you need help?” Archie was sure he was joking, he was sure of it, and yet something dark inside him started flashing images of Jug hurt, bleeding, dead in his mind.

“No, no, no I am being very funny and very cavalier, and I'm going to make it back to my bike and everything is going to be fine.”

“I’m at the community center,” Archie texted him, trying to smooth out the lines across his forehead, quiet the images in his mind. “If you wanted to stop by on your way home.”

“Everything’s fine.”

Archie stared at that text for a minute, willing himself to believe it, before Jughead texted him again.

“I can do that though. I know my horror movie jokes get less funny the darker it gets. But I’m texting you at the moment so if I am taken by unseen forces that want to wear my skin, you’ll know I was last seen by that big split oak tree at sunset.”

Archie curled up into himself a little. He couldn’t help but grin at that. “Even though you know they’re less funny, you can’t help but tell them, huh?” Archie watched that text go through, before he quickly wrote another one, not giving himself time to consider it, delete it, before he sent it. “I kind of love you, Jughead Jones.”

“I love when I grudgingly wring affection out of my people with my antics.” A second passes. “I kind of love you too, Archie Andrews.”

The word didn’t scare him so much, sending it back and forth with Jughead. Love. It didn’t feel heavy in the same way it did when he was dating a girl, because, well, of course he loved Jug. He was his best friend. It’d be weirder if he didn’t love him.

Sure, maybe they did more together than most friends did, but that didn’t stop the friendship from coming first.

“Am I your people?” Archie asked, watching his screen, waiting for his reply to flash.

“One of my people,” Jughead answered. “One of my chosen few. You have been selected by the King.”

“Should I bow when you get here? Or would you prefer a kneel?” Archie slowly felt the tension ease out of his muscles, and he laid back out on the cot.

“Absolutely, I’m glad you finally asked. Take a knee, as is custom.” Jughead replied. Archie felt like he could hear his voice when he read the words, sarcastic and monotone and playful, all at once.

“Of course, my King,” Archie replied easily.

“I feel like if the girls were here, they’d be telling us to cut this out. But they’re not. I’ll see you in a bit.”

Archie didn’t bother texting Jughead back, knowing he’d be on his bike and unable to check his phone. He laid on the cot for about two minutes before he felt fidgety, wandering out into the main room, pacing back and forth in front of the boxing ring.

The certainty he built up from joking with Jug was slowly melting away as the clock loudly counted off the seconds on the wall, and each second felt longer than the last.

When the door finally opened and Jug walked in, locking the door behind him, he said loudly, “I return to thee unscathed!”

Archie turned sharply, walking over to the bottom of the stairs to greet him. “Good. You. Hi.”

Jug looked down at him sheepishly, tugging on his hat slightly to straighten it as he walked to meet him, stilling on the last step before the landing. “I didn’t mean to worry you. It really was a nice sunset. Stay gold, Ponyboy, kind of sunset.”

Archie reached out for him instinctively, his hands held out in front of him, unsure of where to touch him. They landed on Jug’s sides, sliding down like he would do with Veronica, searching for the dip of his waist that wasn’t as defined as his hands were used to. “You’re fine. So I’m good.”

Veronica knew about them, of course. Betty, too. There had been a lot of conversations between the four of them when this thing first started, facilitated mostly by the girls, and maple rum. The change in their relationship was still new enough that it felt fresh and a little scary, but also comfortable enough to feel safe, like even if the touching didn’t work out, the friendships would withstand the hit.

Jughead leaned over him, taking advantage of his head being above Archie’s to cup his jaw, tilting his head up and kissing him. “I’m fine.”

Archie looked up at him, cheeks tinted pink, his fingers tightening in the fabric of Jug’s shirt. Warm. Safe. In his reach. Archie tried to reply with a joke, to lighten the mood, but when he spoke, his voice was heavy, sincere. “My King.”

Jughead’s thumb skirted over the line of his jaw, and he paused, their faces still close. “My chosen. You were supposed to take a knee.”

“Of course.” Archie’s eyes stayed locked with Jug’s as he lowered himself down to one knee, his hands moving down from his hips to his thighs, resting just above his knees, thumbs brushing over the fabric of his jeans. Jughead had to pull his hand back, he could no longer reach Archie’s jaw.

Jug shifted, as though about to come down from his makeshift pedestal, break the spell between them, meet Archie’s eye level, but instead he pulled himself up, back straight. Archie felt his breath hitch in his chest as he watched him.

They both waited for a moment for the other one to chicken out, to break the façade, stop the game, but neither of them did.

Jughead’s hand reached out again, resting it atop Archie’s head. Archie leaned forward, pressing his forehead against Jughead’s thigh, the movement awkward, his knee aching against the concrete floor, back and neck almost painfully curved.

At last, Jughead stepped down the final step, pushing into Archie’s space, and he had to lift his head. He faced the front of Jug’s jeans, and he quickly looked up to his face, his cheeks going from pink to red, despite all of the blood flooding the lower half of his body.

“Thank you for always looking out for me.” Jug’s voice was deep and sincere, and his face was flushed too, eyes dark. He ran his fingers through Archie’s hair absently, and Archie had to bite back a moan, breathing quick and hot against the fabric that was taut against Jug.

Archie wished he was better with words. If he wasn’t writing a song, picking words out from a careful line up, scribbling them down and then crossing them out and then writing them down again, he found it hard to pin down exactly what he wanted to say.

He wanted to play along. But he didn’t know how.

“I want… to take care of you,” Archie said. His words felt stilted, heavy and awkward in his mouth, not quite what he meant, but close enough. He quickly added, “My King.”

“You do take care of me,” Jughead replied easily. His fingers tugged on Archie’s hair lightly, bringing his gaze up to his face. At the same time, he reached down with his free hand, popping open the button of his jeans, tugging at the fabric so the zipper pulled open. “But if you need to complete an action…”

Archie felt a shiver go down his spine. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, a cruel, scared voice told him that their game was stupid, childish, weird, perverted, but it was easier to push back against it when he had a task to complete. He wanted to show Jughead… something.

He wanted Jughead, full stop.

Archie’s hands worked quickly, eagerly, pushing his jeans and briefs down just far enough to pull him free. He wrapped his lips around his length, eyes shutting easily as he focused on keeping his teeth from scraping against sensitive skin, working his hand up to meet his mouth.

It took a moment to find a rhythm. Archie was still new at this, and he found it hard to remember to breath sometimes, his head going almost foggy from the sensation of it all, the smell of him filling every breath, as his hand and mouth worked in tandem to bring him pleasure.

The only sound above him was Jug’s stilted breathing. He always kept so quiet, even if he had to bite down on his bottom lip to keep the noises from slipping out. But Archie could feel the heat in his mouth, feel his hand tightening, almost twitching, in his hair, every time Archie did something right. It was all the encouragement Archie needed.

Archie lost himself in the act. The room around them disappeared, their lives and the dangers that lurked outside of the walls meant nothing in this moment, nothing could break them from the spell now. He felt spit slicking his hand, his chin, his jaw aching as he worked over him. He felt his leg going numb from holding his weight. He was straining in his own jeans, could feel the wetness beading at the tip of him, so close without ever being touched.

Jughead made a noise, a short, cut off groan, tugging insistently at Archie’s hair, and he knew it meant he was close, but Archie made no move to pull away, despite the pulls at his hair turning sharp, and soon he felt his mouth fill with the salty, warm taste of his release.

He finally obeyed the hand that was now still, pulling away and righting Jughead in his clothes, tucking him back into his briefs and doing up his zipper with shaking fingers.

Jughead’s words were breathy when he said, tone reverent, “My chosen.”

Archie felt his throat closing up, and he squeezed his eyes shut, his hands tightening into fists. He pressed his fists helplessly to the front of Jug’s legs, wanting to grab onto him but unable. He felt his body shake, searching for touch, pressure, a breaking point.

Jughead knelt in front of him, and for a moment Archie felt scared, scared that the moment had passed, and they would be pushed sharply back into reality, but Jughead just pressed their foreheads together and said again, softer this time, but just as devout, “My chosen.”

He reached forward between them, pressing the heel of his hand against the bulge in Archie’s jeans, rubbing at him through the stiff fabric. Archie moaned, panting an inch away from Jughead’s face, the taste of him still on his tongue.

His body was shaking and rocking up against his hand, and it wasn’t long before he grabbed desperately to the front of Jug’s shirt, pulling at it roughly as he came in his jeans. He fell forward against him as the tension melted from his muscles, panting against his shoulder. Jug ran his hand through Archie’s hair, petting him gently, holding him up.

“January embers – my heart burns there too,” Jug murmurs gently, and Archie laughed a little, catching his breath slowly but surely.

The play was over, but reality wasn’t crashing down around them, ripping them away from each other with cold hands. Jughead laughed with him, the sound coming easily to him, and he helped haul Archie to his feet, both of them walking on wobbling legs back to the office.

“I guess I have a thing for poetry,” Archie said, rubbing at his face, the soft, pleasant fog dulling the numb pain in his legs.

“I think you have a thing for me,” Jughead responded quickly, and they both laughed again, Archie shoving at him as much as he could, still leaning up against him.


End file.
